Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4) by Nick Pirog (best ereader for textbooks .TXT) 📗

between Lunhill and the FDA? Some governmental fraud? Something to do with Obama?

Three miles later, I was convinced I wasn’t crazy.

Barns don’t get burned down because of crazy. Police officers don’t get strangled because of crazy. You aren’t told to leave things alone because of crazy.

No.

Neil Felding found something.

Now I just needed to find out what.

Neil Felding's widow lived on a street where the houses were bigger and nicer than any I’d yet seen in Tarrin. Stepping from the car, I walked through a well-manicured front yard and rang the doorbell.

The door opened.

Darcy Felding had a pleasant face, nearly black hair, and brown eyes.

I’m not sure why it hadn’t occurred to me earlier to track down Neil Felding’s widow. I suppose I was trying to limit the collateral damage that my investigation would cause.

That said, I was done playing nice.

I said, “I was wondering if I could have a couple moments of your time.”

“Oh, um, I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling.”

“Actually, my name is Thomas Prescott. I’m a retired homicide detective. I’d like to speak with you about your husband.”

Her breath caught and she said, “Oh, okay. Can you give me a minute?”

I nodded and she closed the door.

Two minutes later, the door opened and she waved me in. “You want to go out back?”

“Sure.”

“I can make up a pitcher of lemonade.” She motioned me to a small sliding glass door. “It will take me a few minutes, maybe you wouldn’t mind finishing up watering my garden.”

“Fair trade,” I said, then slipped through the sliding glass door and stepped into a small back yard. Unlike most of the neighborhoods in Tarrin, the backyard was fenced.

There was a flower garden abutted by a small vegetable garden. A hose lay on the ground, small droplets of water beading around the head of a nozzle. Lying on the ground just in front of the hose was a white spray bottle.

I picked it up.

Spectrum-H weed killer.

I scrunched my eyebrows together. If Darcy was using Spectrum-H in her garden, Neil must have felt the product was safe.

I set the bottle down and picked up the hose. I sprayed for three or four minutes, stopping when I heard Darcy move through the back door. I clicked off the nozzle, then met her near a table with an umbrella and two cushioned chairs.

“Thank you,” she said, handing me a tall glass of lemonade. It had a red purée on top and she said, “Strawberry purée.” She nodded at the garden and said, “I grew the strawberries myself.”

I hesitated, all of Randall’s words rushing into my brain, I don’t spray shit, least of all, those assholes’ poison.

She watched me closely as I picked up the glass and took a long sip.

“So,” Darcy said. “You wanted to speak to me about Neil?”

I set the glass down on the small table with an audible clunk and nodded. I considered offering a quick disclaimer, something along the lines of: I need to warn you, the questions I’m about to ask may upset you, may flip your world upside down. But her brown eyes were steeled. I think part of her had been waiting for someone to come asking questions. Maybe even wanting them to.

“Did you ever question your husband’s murder beyond him being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“I did.”

“In what regard?”

“The timing of it all,” she said. “Neil resigning from Lunhill just three weeks before he was killed.”

“And why exactly did he resign?”

“Creative differences,” she said. Then pursing her lips, added, “At least, that’s what it said in the non-disclosure.”

“But that isn’t why he really resigned?”

She shook her head.

I could feel my pulse quicken.

“Did you know what your husband was working on before he resigned?”

She nodded. “Sterile Seed Technology.”

“Did you ever have an ethical problem with anything Neil was working on?”

“You mean like the bottle of Spectrum-H I use on my garden.”

She must have seen me looking at it. But more than that, she was testing me with the lemonade. Waiting to see how I reacted when she said the strawberry purée was from her garden. That’s what she’d been doing the two minutes I waited outside her front door. She was setting up the hose and the bottle.

“Did I pass?” I asked.

“What?”

“Did I pass the strawberry purée test?”

She looked at me for a long second.

I said, “I was a detective for more than a decade.”

Finally, she let out a long exhale. “Yes, you passed.”

“Were you checking to see if I was one of Lunhill’s people?”

She nodded and said, “They never drink.”

“Seriously?”

“Never.”

“Because they know it might make them sick?”

She shrugged and said, “Who knows?”

I asked, “What’s in the bottle?”

“Vinegar.”

I grinned, then asked, “If Neil felt Spectrum-H was poisonous, then why work at Lunhill?”

She turned around and waved her hands at the house.

“Money?” I asked.

“Yes, money.”

“How much did he make?”

“A hundred and fifty thousand, give or take.”

“That’s pretty good.”

“Especially when you live in Tarrin.”

“Did Neil commute?”

“About half the time. There are sleeping quarters at the lab. He would stay the night a couple times a week.”

“And what about you? What did you do?”

“I stayed home with the kids.”

“Where are they now?”

“On summer break from school. They’re backpacking through Europe right now.”

“Where do they go to school?”

“One is at NYU. One is at the University of Colorado.”

“Those are both pretty expensive.”

She nodded.

“Do you work?”

“I garden.”

Her husband had been dead for four years. If they were smart with their money, he could have left her a sizable nest egg. Maybe a million, maybe more. Plus whatever life insurance he had.

“How much money do you get from Lunhill?” I asked.

“Fifty grand.”

I was surprised she answered so candidly. “A year?”

She shook her head. “A month.”

I whistled.

She said, “That was part of Neil’s release package.”

“More like hush money.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“What was it?” I asked. “Did he threaten to go public with details about Spectrum-H? That it was dangerous?”

“No.”

“He must have had something on them. Must have threatened to blow the whistle on something.”

She stared at me.

“Come on,” I prodded. “What